In her office I stare at the rug
and unwrap another hard candy, focus
on the sound of gold foil like television
static or October leaves. Blinking away
hunger, I notice the books kept behind glass.
I fill my hands with books, with leaves, prescriptions.
On a new medication I hope to stop
dreaming for once, even though a teacher
told me that’s where all the good stuff is. Dismantling,
something breaks. You are going to move through
some difficult times, she says as I leave
the session and I say Oh? The word titrate
melts on my tongue as I merge with traffic.
I feel a part of the wave being made.